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a Burns; and in weaving verses, as well as table-cloths, Mr Strachan reflects no inconsiderable lustre upon the adventurers of the shuttle now resident in the ancient and good town of Forres. Passing over his longer poem, which is in the Spenserian verse, and is in many parts spirited and natural, we prefer taking our extract from one of the minor pieces, entitled "The Reverie." passage descriptive of the effects of fine natural scenery upon a poet's mind :

It is a

"How sweet through Nature's wildest scenes to stray,
And give to sportive toil the cheerful day!
By torrent's roar, and shaggy pass, to trace
The wizard feature, and the rugged grace,
With magic softness that subdue the heart,
And still new raptures to the soul impart.
The wild woods hanging o'er the narrow dale,
The mountains shrouded in their azure veil,
The hoary cliffs, in solemn grandeur piled,
That shade the green-clad vale, serenely mild,
And distant lake, exulting in the rays
That sportive on its dazzling bosom blaze;
Then o'er these scenes the poet's eye will roll,

While bounds from earth to heaven his ravish'd soul,
And, fraught with fancy and celestial fire,

He wakes to wildest notes his mountain lyre.

song;

Peace to your honour'd shades! ye heaven-taught throng!
Who breathed, 'mid Scotia's wilds, the voice of
Sweet be your rest as the loved strains ye sung,
And soft, as sounds that o'er your harps once hung!
Well could the minstrel in the days of yore,
Skill'd in his country's legendary lore,

Make from his harp the soothing measures flow,
Warming with them the chilly breast of woe;
His melting airs the still cold heart could move,
And tune the jarring passions all to love.
The harp, assuming still a nobler strain,

With martial sounds would animate the swain;
Fan in his glowing breast the glorious flame,
To earn in honour's field the prize of fame.
His country's foes arranged in dread array

With dauntless heart he sought the wild affray :
Strong was his arm; for Freedom's right he stood,
Till waved her banner o'er her foes subdued.
If met by death amid the glorious toil,

He bless'd the cause, and hail'd him with a smile."

Pp. 130-2.

We do not advise Mr Strachan to quit his workshop for Parnassus, and to exchange his loom for a lyre; but we shall be glad to hear that, at his leisure, he continues to cultivate the muse.

Who is she who comes the last upon our list, rising upon the poetical horizon like a new moon among the stars? It is Mrs Cookson of Leith! Fade away, Felicia Hemans! evaporate, Joanna Baillie! die and be forgotten, Letitia Elizabeth Landon! for a greater than even Mrs Richardson of Dumfries has burst upon the astonished world, and the great lost power of song is once more embodied in the strains of Mary Ann Cookson! Whether she pens an "Address to Miss Janet Clifford, who was deprived of both her parents by death,”—whether she writes an "Epistle to a Gentleman who sent his Lady a new gown and some wine while she was languishing in consumption,"_whether she soliloquizes, in a tender strain," On a Lady who died of a decline shortly after her delivery," or "On seeing a Fly drowning in a bowl of milk," or whether she pours forth the " Answer of a Lady to her Husband who exclaimed, smiling, 'Lucy, you are a little Diamond,' "—or, boldly attuning her lyre to a nobler theme, produces an 66 Elegy on the Death of the celebrated Lord Byron,”-in each and all of her efforts she towers, like the virtuous Marcia," to an immeasurable height above her sex. Let us adduce an example or two in proof of our assertion. We shall pass over that fine picture of a young lady in a delicate state of health contained in the line

"A languid form, of flesh quite bare ;" and we shall not insist upon the noble opening of a war

ode

"What mean these rumbling carriage wheels?"

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""Tis vain to tell a sneering world
Of tortures in my breast unfurl'd,
Of cancers that corroding lurk,
Their secret apparatus work;
Repeatedly this bosom mar

With dirks and cutlasses of war;

As Bolt. and Watt's high-pressures go,
Extends my nerves, my arteries flow;
The swelling glands my lungs impedes,
My palpitating heart recedes;
Life's vast cascades now languid roll,
The typhus holds them in control;
Shrivell'd as parchment my soft lip,

Death's freezing hand my vitals grip."

The knowledge displayed, in this passage, of anatomy, grammar, and mechanics, is altogether wonderful. Much do we regret that we have room for only one other specimen of Mrs Cookson's unequalled powers. It is the last words of George the Fourth on leaving Scotland; and it will be found that they indicate an acquaintance, on the part of his gracious Majesty, with the rules of Linley Murray, peculiarly satisfactory and complete. The King loquitur:

"Farewell to flourishing Scoti,
And Caledonia's sons!

I will remember till I die,-
Yes-laurels them becomes.
Yes, I am indeed an English born,
But Scotia's to me dear;
And cowardice I view with scorn,—
I would disdain to fear."

What a pity that in this degenerate age there are not more Mary Ann Cooksons! A few such splendid examples of what real genius can achieve, might frighten many of those amphibious animals who call themselves poets from dipping their feeble wings in the Castalian wave.

Letters from Joseph Ritson, Esq. to Mr George Paton; to which is added, A Critique, by John Pinkerton, Esq. upon Ritson's Scottish Songs. Edinburgh. John Stevenson. 1829.

THIS book, of which only one hundred copies have been printed, contains a few literary relics of the antiquarian Ritson, together with a prefatory notice of the late Mr George Paton, of Edinburgh, a person well known to the literati of the latter part of last century, and who, though he held no higher rank than that of a clerk in the Custom-house, was acknowledged to be as deeply versed in the antiquities of North Britain as almost any of his contemporaries. The six letters from Ritson to Paton, now published, touch upon a variety of subjects, but contain little that is very new or very interesting. The first is dated, " Gray's Inn, 15th Nov. 1792," and the last," Gray's Inn, July 21st, 1795." In the course of the correspondence, Pinkerton, Chalmers, Ireland, and Laing, are mentioned, and a few things are noticed casually, which the antiquarian may perhaps find worthy of attention. In an Appendix is given Pinkerton's severe criticism on Ritson's "Scottish Songs," which appeared in the Critical Review, for January, 1795. The review is in many respects just; and it was certainly one of Ritson's failings, that he was over apt to quarrel with other

antiquaries.

A New Booke of Cookerie, wherein is set forth a most perfect direction to furnish an extraordinary, or ordinary feast, either in Summer or Winter. And likewise the most commendable fashion of Dressing or Sawcing either Flesh, Fish, or Fowle. All set forth according to the now new English and French Fashion. By John Murrell. London. Printed by M. T. for John Marriot.

1631.

WE introduce this curious old black-letter book (on which we accidentally laid our hands the other day) to the notice of our readers, principally for the sake of two receipts which it contains. The first is entitled "The Queen of Scots Soup;" and we are seriously of opinion that, for the sake of the Royal House of Stuart, it should immediately become a standard dish with all the defenders of Mary and her unfortunate family. The soup is made thus:-"Six chickens are cut in small pieces, with the heart, gizzard, and liver well washed, and then put into a stew-pan, and just covered with water, and boiled till the chickens are enough. Season it with salt and cayenne pepper; and mince parsley with eight eggs, yolks and whites beat up together. Stir round altogether just as you are going to serve it up. Half a minute will boil the eggs." This must be a delicate and gentle soup, worthy of the amiable dispositions of Mary, and every way calculated to produce a beneficial effect on the female character.

Our other receipt is entitled" An excellent and muchapproved receit for a long consumption." We suspect it is far from being generally known to the medical faculty, and we are doing therefore a great service to mankind, in now rescuing it from oblivion. It is couched in these words:"Take eight, ten, or eleven white snailes, and break away their shells from them, then put them into a bowle of water for twelve houres, to clense themselves from their slime, then take them from that water and put them into another bowle of running water for twelve houres more, then take them out, and put them into half a pint of white wine, and keepe them in it twelve houres, then take a quart of red cowe's milke, and put the snayles out of the wine into the milke, and boyle the quart of milke with the snayles put into it, untill it be boyled to a pinte, then put into it one ounce of canded sugar, and so give the sicke party the same to drinke everie morning, and at four of the clocke in the afternoone; but you

for the space of two houres after they have taken this receit; and without all doubt, this being duely made and taken accordingly, will, with God's help, recover the party, being very weake and far spent in this long lingering sickness, and of my knowledge hath been often approved, and is found an excellent receit to cure the same disease." We do not know how others may feel, but, were we consumptive, we should immediately drink immense quantities of boiled snails, for we put great confidence in these old black-letter books. The rest of the contents of this volume are just such as might be expected in a good Cookery Book for the earlier part of the seventeenth century.

must not let the sicke party eate or drinke any thing else

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE.

MY GRANDMOTHER'S KEYS. "In tenui labor, at tenuis non gloria."

I AM fond of the olden times-times which I would not write old for any thing. That is a beautiful beech-tree, no doubt, but what is it to Campbell's

"Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ?” You may smile, if you will; but till you explain the reason why "woods among" is more poetical than " among woods," you will permit me to write the olden, instead of the old, times.

I am fond, I repeat, and I love to repeat it, of the olden times, of the fine, hearty old carles in plaid and bonnet, who thought strongly, and spoke freely; but, after all, the ladies of the old school are my peculiar favourites —those respectable matrons, with plaited toys and black silk hoods, who rode behind their husbands to kirk and market, were excellent housekeepers, and wonderfully kind to children. To me, even at this distant hour, there is a warmth, and a comfort, and a somewhat akin to dignity, in their many and multiplied investures. No grave-digger in Hamlet ever deposited a more numerous assortment of jackets, than did my grandmother of gowns and petticoats, ere she went to repose. Even Lady Charlotte Campbell, when, in the year 1804, she engaged to smother half the female nobility and gentry of Edinburgh, did not, from theatre stage-box, exhibit a more glorious rotundity and expansion of person, than did my worthy progenitor. Around her middle, too, there extended a zone, broad, strong, and immovable, from which, as from the immobility of the earth's axis, were suspended, on the one side, a large pocket, shaped like a tailor's lapboard, and furnished with a pocket-hole of corresponding shape and extension. Beneath this pocket, but at a respectful and becoming distance, were seen to flit backwards and forwards, as the movements required, a pair of clear steel scissors. On the other side, and, on the principle of an Australasia, to counterbalance the other continents, hung, John Gilpin-like, to keep her balance true, "The Keys,”-not separately, or individually, but in apt and becoming connexion, suspended from a large clasp ring, of an inch and a half in diameter. Amongst these keys there prevailed the most complete republican equality—from him, the lord of the cellar, even down to her, the tiny regulator of the timepiece. Thus you could see, at one glance, not only that the gudewife was useful, but that her pride lay in being thought so; and that she would rather have been complimented on her house management, than on her complexion or graceful movements.

Now, in contrasting with this the gudewives of the present day, I do not mean to be satirical; indeed, were I ever so much so disposed, it is out of my power, as public opinion would immediately run me down, like a small fishing-boat before a Newcastle collier. I mean, in fact, to admit an incalculable balance, after all deductions and adjustments, in favour of "gudewives as they are," on

the score of manners, dress, education, and I know not
how many additional particulars. And to what extent
these improvements may yet be carried, no one who has
not seen in Edward Irving's Millennium, can possibly de-
termine. My sole object is to draw your attention, and
that of the gudewives of the present day, to my
"GRAND-
MOTHER'S KEYS."

I say nothing of the pocket-though the subject is highly deserving of a separate chapter-nor of the scissors -nor of the pincushion-whose pardon I beg a thousand times, as having been unintentionally overlooked

there!-Go search the table-drawer!"-" Mem, I canna find it."-" Stupid idiot! stand out of my road. I'm sure such servants!-it cannot be far off, for I had it not ten minutes ago;" and so

"The maids are running through the house——— Ilk door is cast a-jee;

And there's no a hole in a' the house,

But's searching for the key" "

but all in vain. The smith's fingers are put in opera tion, and just as he has removed the lock, at the expense

an

66

But, bless me! where's the

not assuredly from its diminutive size in my former enumeration of pendicles; but I come at once, and for of the splintered timber, Peggy comes bouncing in with the sake of unity—the parent, they tell us, of interest-by no means: Sickness is in the house, and the doctor Eh, mem, here's the key!"-Nor is this the worst to speak of the "Keys." These keys hung with a grace orders an immediate use of jams and jellies; but the key and a freedom which could never be overlooked; no constraint nor seeming arrangement. It was a kind of has taken this opportunity of paying a visit to the terra Jack Goodfellow golden age, when great and small, im- incognita of "somewhere." It was seen by somebody portant and unimportant, rusted and ward-worn, met in a word, nobody knows any thing about the matter!— some time ago, but nobody got, and nobody had it; and together and fondly embraced, united in the same jingle, Company to tea! down with the tea-cups, tray, urn, and bobbed at the same step. Like the human faculties, all in a smoke and a bustle. as described by our worthy faculty-mongers, these Keys rested upon a background of complete unity; yet, when ever circumstances called them into play, they were ever separately and individually at hand, ready to execute the appropriate task assigned to them. Every key, in fact, was a separate bump, to which was assigned the task of opening one lock, and one exclusively; and had my grandmother suspected that the office of one would have been destroyed by another, she would have considered the monopoly as dangerous, and not to be countenanced. Thus it is and the analogy is worth tracing through a sentence that, in the beautiful science of craniology, each separate faculty has its own assigned and circumscribed duty and ideality, and no more dares trespass upon the vince of imagination, wit, or benevolence, than my grand- the keys only-keep to them, as my grandmother did, in Let the gudewife keep the keys, then; and keep to mother's cellar-door Key thought of dealing with the wards the literal sense of the word-attach them (I do not care of her time-piece. Were faculties permitted thus to trespass or transgress the limits assigned to them, then there where or how) to her person, and be able, at a moment's were an end to the division of labour, and to that beauti-warning, to make that use of them for which they were ful adjustment by which a pin is brought to so much But how are the Keys managed now-a-days? for this, after all, is the matter of discourse and enquiry. Is the above beautiful and convenient arrangement adopted; or is another, and, if any other, a better or a worse, adopted in its stead? I hate the German Illuminati, and the

sugar, ay, and the tea-cannister these indispensables of the repast?-they are under lock and key-the lock, indeed, is safe, and at its post, like a carrier's dog, firm and the key is at the "back of beyond," where the mare, unmoved not to be tampered with-but the key-oh! according to immemorial tradition, was safely delivered of the fiddler. It must, in fact, either have sunk through the earth and become a gnome, or ascended through the air and been sainted, otherwise the search made for it would have been successful. Perspective becomes the order of the hour, till force has done the work of art, and a fine evening has been spent in useless and unavailing regrets for the "loss of the key.'

fection.

pro

per

French Revolution, and lament the decay of the age of
chivalry and respect for royalty; and this I do, not only
on the score that, by means of such unhallowed agen-
cies, society has been torn from its moorings, and dashed
into a thousand separate and independent fragments, but
that along with, and I verily believe in sympathy with, these
events, my Grandmother's Keys have broken from their
ring and been dispersed. They have, in fact, become, since
the period alluded to, a kind of refugees-unconnected, un-
united, insubordinate, and useless-never at hand unless
when not wanted, and always a-seeking when most requi-
red. You look upon that three-cornered and tesselated piece
of net-work or velvet, commonly called a reticule, but you
may save yourself the trouble of search, the keys are not
there; and if not there, where can they be? not assuredly
on the person of the mistress; for on her whole person,
from head-dress to shoe-point, there is neither lap, pocket,
nor fastening. The keys would escape from her like a
drop of water over the burning face of a tailor's goose;
she would absolutely faint at the imputation of any thing
so Gothic as a key, a pocket, or a pincushion, on her per-
son,-ornament has superseded and banished utility, and,
in the scuffle, the associated keys have run riot, and be-
come entirely unmanageable.
You may call spirits, but
will they come? You may sing out from morn to night,
Nanny! Mary!-what's your name? Jane! Tibby!
bring me my napery-press key; you will find it on the
sideboard."—"Na, mem; it's no there."." It must be

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originally hammered out and constructed.

It is, after all, on such apparently trifling attentions or

negligences that much of the comfort or usefulness of life depends. Let any one, addicted to the negligence to which I have referred, fairly calculate the time lost, the

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convenience marred, the temper fretted, and the happiness hazarded, by such occurrences, and the amount will not fail to astonish as well as mortify. Little things are but against this effect, as well as evidence of our fallen indeed great to little men-parva leves capiunt animos and imperfect nature, it becomes us to guard. For great calamities or trying exigencies we stand, as it were, prepared; and the storm, whilst it arrests and stupifies, still

nerves and solemnizes our faculties;—

"Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky,
Yet still serene th' unconquer'd mind looks down
Upon the wreck."

But for the eternal "losing or mislaying" of the keys,
there is no remedy. Against the assail of the lion and
the tiger, there are means of defence against those of
the musquito and the midge, there are none. Misfor-
tunes are formidable, without being teazing-mismanage-
ments fret in proportion to their trifling nature and the
frequency of their occurrence.

Now, madam, do not flounce out of the room, and slam the door, so as to endanger the lights and the drum of my ears. What I have said—my own conscience is my witness-I have said for your good; and if the medicine do but operate beneficially, a few painful throes, during the operation, will be of less consequence. And, in order to show you that I bear no manner of grudge against you, I mean, God willing, to drink tea with you on Tuesday next, when, I have no manner of doubt, that I will find you in a "PROPER Key.”

THE HEBREW LANGUAGE-ITS IMPORTANCE TO lege, and Public Orator in the University of Oxford, in his three discourses preached by him before that University, evidently proved by many cogent and forcible ar

THE CLERICAL PROFESSION.

MR EDITOR, I beg leave to solicit your attention to a sub-guments. For the clergy, indeed, a Version of the Scripject in which, as I humbly conceive the clergy to be deeply tures is much wanted, to assist them in their theological concerned, they should therefore feel themselves much in- studies; but I should be very apprehensive of its disturbterested. I allude to a thorough acquaintance with the ing and unsettling the minds of the common people, who, sacred and primitive language, which, I am happy to ob- from time out of mind, have been accustomed to our preserve, is more cultivated than it was in my early days; and sent translation. They would feel the strongest aversion would be still more so, were it not for the jealousy and nar- and repugnance to receive and adopt the new one prorow-mindedness of the Jews themselves—I mean those with posed to them, and with which they were totally unacwhom I have been in the habit of conversing-who wish quainted. I well remember that, several years ago, a to exclude us e vestibulo templi, and do every thing in their clergyman in Hampshire, wishing to improve the psalmpower to prevent us Christians from entering the pene- ody in his parish, wished to introduce among his patralia. The Hebrew nation-if I am correctly informed rishioners Tattersall's new version of the Psalms; but -keep even their brethren from a knowledge of their the honest and well-meaning rustics were filled with Cabala till they have attained the age of forty, though they wrath and indignation when the proposal was made to allow them to read the Talmud and the Targums. To them by their pious and worthy pastor; for one and all, those who are intended for the clerical profession, I am with much vehemence, declared that they were not King fully persuaded that a competent knowledge of the lingua David's Psalms, that they had long been accustomed to sacra should be considered as a , and a very sing Sternhold and Hopkins' version, and, therefore, safe one too, ere they shall be ordained as ministers of the would receive no other. The late Bishop Horsley, in his Kirk of Scotland, or of the Established Church of Eng-learned and elaborate work on the Psalms, has clearly land and Ireland. It is evident that this was the firm and decided opinion of the learned Dr Robison, who was Oriental Professor in the University of Edinburgh, as is manifest from his erudite preface to his edition of the Clavis Pentateuchi, which had been long out of print and become very scarce.

No clergyman can be said to be well informed or thoroughly qualified to exercise his sacred function, should he continue to be wilfully ignorant of the primitive language, which, as such, lends to all languages, while it borrows from none; and therefore, from its very simplicity, can easily be learnt by any one possessed of moderate abilities and common application. The Vulgate is like

wise absolutely necessary for the theological student, who will find Parkhurst's Hebrew Lexicon-if he begins reading without the Masoretic points and Buxtorf's, the best. A very valuable Lexicon has lately made its appearance from the Cambridge University Press;-it was written originally in the German, by Gesenius, and has been very ably and well translated by a Rabbi, a teacher of the Hebrew at Cambridge. There are two excellent Hebrew Grammars-one by your late and learned Professor Robison, and another by H. V. Boluffy, which will be highly useful to students who have not had an opportunity for forming an acquaintance with the classics. The latter may very justly be called Une grammaire raisonnée. To those conversant with the Lingua Toscana, Diodati's Italian Bible was strongly recommended by the late Bishops Bagot and Horsley, particularly for its copious and learned annotations. Unfortunately this work is now very scarce, and fetches a high price. A new edition of it has lately been published by Priestley in London, but the valuable annotations of Diodati are totally excluded.

demonstrated, with his usual acumen and sagacity, that, though Sternhold and Hopkins' version is a very quaint one, yet it is more conformable to the idiom of the lingua sacra than that of Tate and Brady, or any other. Now, if we fail in the minor, it follows, as a natural consequence, that we shall equally so in the major.

These remarks are all with which I shall trespass on your time at present; but you will perhaps permit me to return to the subject at some future opportunity.

R. N.

STORY OF THE LAIRD OF FAWDONSIDE.

By the Author of the Histories of the Scottish Rebellions.

THE following story was related to me by an old gentleman, resident for fifty years in Northumberland, but who had been born and educated near the scene described, where it was, in his youth, a common fireside legend.

The Laird of Fawdonside, an estate immediately above Abbotsford, on the course of the Tweed, was one night riding home in a state of intoxication from market, when, just as he reached a place about half a mile from his own house, he encountered that celebrated and very generally reprobated character, the Devil. Fully aware of the danger of his situation, the Laird thought he would give his holiness the cut celestial, and pass on. But Satan was not an acquaintance to be shaken off so easily: he fairly intercepted the Laird as he was about to give him the goby; and, although Fawdonside attempted then to take a more desperate course and rush past, he found himself, notwithstanding all his exertions, obliged at last to come to a quiet tête-à-tête with his enemy. The conversation which ensued, ended in a proposal on the part of the Devil, that Fawdonside should purchase a right of pass The theological student, however, should not be satis- age, by agreeing to deliver up to him whatever living fied with the Septuagint or the Vulgate. He must go to thing he should first meet as he approached his home. the fountain head, and read carefully the Hebrew text The Laird, calling to mind that a favourite greyhound itself. Though, upon the whole, our English translation was in the habit of coming out of the house to meet him of the Old Testament is well done and faithfully executed; on similar occasions, consented to the proposal, though yet it is very erroneously so in several of the Books not without some compunctious qualms in regard to the Isaiah, in particular. But it is said that that eminent and faithful and beloved creature which he was thus consignacute critic, Dr Kennicot, told his late majesty, George ing to destruction. Chance determined that his feelings the Third, that not any one of the fundamental articles of of regret should be exercised on a much worthier object. our faith was impugned by the mistranslation. Dr K. As in the somewhat similar case of Jephthah, his daughindeed was very urgent for a revision of the translation ter, a child of ten years, was the first person whom he of our Bible, and for a new one to be made, and published met. No words could express the horror of the poor under authority. But with me and many of my friends, Laird, as the fiend, who had dogged him, appeared at his the judiciousness of this recommendation is very problem- back to claim his victim. He could only plead a respite. atical and doubtful, not to say extremely dangerous, After much entreaty, "the Enemy" consented to allow though it proceeded from the pen of the ablest theological him a few days to take leave of the child. It being then critic of his time. This the late eminent scholar, the settled that the rendition should be made next Thursday Reverend William Crowe, LL.B., Fellow of New Col- at Galashiels kirk, Satan disappeared.

L

Before the appointed day, Fawdonside had consulted the clergyman of the parish as to what he should do under such circumstances. The minister, who happened to have some knowledge of diablerie, proposed a scheme, by which, with the assistance of his brethren, he hoped to counteract the designs of the Evil One. On the day appointed, the child was brought to Galashiels kirk, where, being placed at the sacramental table, it was "hedged" round, if not with "divinity," at least with a dozen able expounders of it; and such a praying and preaching commenced, as had never before shaken the walls of that place of worship. When Satan at last appeared, the minister of the parish entered into a warm expostulation with him on the subject of his unreasonable bargain with Fawdonside; and although the Tartarean monarch expressed no little vexation and rage at being baulked in his demand, he was soon brought to reason. In the end, he agreed to accept a little dog in lieu of the child; which creature being immediately thrown to him, he vanished through the roof, taking a considerable part of it with him, and leaving behind him, to use the words of old Aubrey, 66 a marvellous perfume of sulphur."

ORIGINAL POETRY.

A NEW POETIC MIRROR.

By the Ettrick Shepherd.

No. I.-Mr W. W.

Ode to a Highland Bee. ASTOUNDING creature, what art thou, Descending from the mountain's brow With such a boom, and passing by Like spirit of the nether sky? While all around this mountain reign I look for thee, but look in vain ; Thee I shall never behold again! And it is painful thus to sever From trumpeter of heaven for ever. Thou art a wonder, I confess, Thou journeyer of the wilderness; Yet a holy thing art thou to me, As emblem of pure industryAnd as an emblem higher still,

Which made my heart and spirit thrill For I bethought me thou mightst be The angel of eternity,

Sent down, with trumpet's awful boom, To summon nature to her doom,

;

And make the churchyards heave and groan,
With flesh to flesh, and bone to bone:
I choose not say the wild emotion
Of my moved soul, and its devotion,
At thy astounding locomotion.

Blest be thy heart, sweet Highland bee,
That thou pass'd by, and changed not me;
For though I know what I am now,
(The world knows not, I must allow,)
Yet the wild wonder strikes me dumb,
What I shall be in time to come!
Whether a zephyr of the cloud,
A moving and mysterious shroud,
A living thing without a frame,
A glory without sound or aim,

Or a creature like thee of a thousand years,
Booming through everlasting spheres!
Such bolt of bold sublimity,

Man never has seen, and never shall see,
As the great W. a bumbee !

Therefore, blest creature of thy kind,
I laud thy speed upon the wind,
And, dream or spirit as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart-

Query-Mr William Wordsworth? -ED.

}

God speed thee to thy latest years;
I neither know thee nor thy peers,

And yet mine eyes are fill'd with tears.
For, as a bee, if thou hadst been

As perilous as some I've seen,

When my rash boyhood's hands were given
(Hands made to strike the harp of heaven)
To feel the poignancy and smart
Of thy empoison'd ruthless dart,
How with that dart of ebony

Mightst thou have wrong'd my friend and me;
And dreadful damage mightst have done

To our beloved Miss Hutchison !
Therefore, it doth behove me well
To bless thee and thy little cell.
And now, again, sweet bee, I say,
With earnest feeling I shall pray
For thee when I am far away.

Again I hear thy voice devout,
About-about-and all about,
As stretch'd recumbent on the grass-
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
Sounding to me like trump of death,
Far o'er the brown astonish'd heath ;
I look to cloud, to sky, and tree,
A thousand ways, yet cannot see
Thy faery path of mystery.

'Tis thus the high poetic mind
Can trace, with energy refined,
The slightest atom on the wind
To its high source; and to the goal,
Where perishes its tiny soul,
Then step by step ascend on high,
From dunghill to the yielding sky:
And thus shall I ambitious be,
When inquest is perform'd on me,
So rise above my grovelling race,
Bounding, like thee, and one day trace
My path on high, like heavenly dove,
Which none dare challenge or reprove,
A path all human walks above!

SONG TO LEILA.
"SAY, wilt thou, Leila, when alone,
Remember days of bliss gone by?
Wilt thou, beside thy native Rhone,
E'er for our distant streamlets sigh?
Beneath thy own glad sun and sky,

Ah! Leila, wilt thou think of me?"
She blush'd, and murmur'd in reply,

"My life is one long thought of thee." "Sweet girl! I would not have it so; My destiny must not be thine, For, wildly as the wild wave's flow, Will pass this fleeting life of mine." "And let thy fate be weal or woe, My thoughts," she smiling said, are free And well the watchful angels know My life is one long thought of thee." "Then, Leila, may thy thoughts and prayers Be with me in my hour of need;

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